POETRY

The Hill Before Inferno

A poem inspired by a J.D. Harms prompt about belonging in memory — with passages from the Divine Comedy

Photo of Budapest From the West — Courtesy of the Author

I belong by that tree at the top
of the city with Inferno
in my lap. A real place
Years away.

I’d run there. Over the Danube.
To escape the sirens.
Satisfied only when those
blasts of emergency
became a blessing
of ants on my feet.
Quiet as memory
aught to be, with
all that wind
Between.

By that tree, three crows played.
Children, maybe. A woman
in veil touched every
leaf. Every leaf, I
felt on my palm
Empty.

I paused my weary body to relax,¹
but knew I would have to go
down again. Down, through
the fiery streets of
Recollection.